


Heaven knows I'm Miserable Now

by alphvjensen



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Consensual Underage Sex, Drinking to Cope, Drunk Sex, Heavy Drinking, Kinda, M/M, Oral Sex, Past Underage Sex, Sam Leaves for Stanford, Stanford Era, Underage Drinking, Underage Sex, Unrequited Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2017-01-08
Packaged: 2018-09-15 19:00:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9251582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alphvjensen/pseuds/alphvjensen
Summary: He was always on the run from monsters and the law and so it only made sense for him to run from his feelings. Only he should know that you can never run forever. There would come the moment that he would have to stop and everything would catch back up with him, leaving him even more broken than he already was.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [masterlynovak](https://archiveofourown.org/users/masterlynovak/gifts).



He still hasn’t unpacked. Not completely at least. And it wasn’t like he had much to unpack or that he had a lot to unpack it was just habit. For nineteen years of his life all of his worldly belongings were stuffed into a small box or a bag that would fit into the back of the Impala and even when he would stay in some small town for longer than a couple of weeks, he wouldn’t unpack. There was no telling when Dad would come home covered in blood that belonged to some monster of the night saying that they needed to leave and that they needed to leave now.

So the two little boxes that he carried himself up the stairs into his apartment that he shared with his roommate named Nick remained packed even now well into the second semester of school.

He was spread out on his bed trying to clean up his notes that he had taken from his classes that day when Nick had come in from whatever he had been doing, taking his seat in the university issued wooden chair at Sam’s desk.

“You know, I still don’t know how I got the luck to room with the college nerd who’s more interested in his books than girls.” Nick broke the silence after several moments.

Sam scoffed and despite himself, found himself smiling. That’s how it was with Nick. Instead of a customary ‘hey’, Nick would always make some kind of dig on Sam about the classes that he was taking or the fact that he was rarely seen outside his room or classes and when he was, it was because he was off to some study group.

“Well, hello to you too, Nick,” Sam replied, barely looking up from the notebook that he was shifting through.

That would usually be enough for Nick until he got bored of watching Sam cram his brain full of useless knowledge and swing his feet off of Sam’s desk (usually knocking a couple of things over) and escaped into the kitchen to find something to eat.

Sam heard the chair creak as Nick changed positions but he didn’t look up. He was waiting for Nick to leave and then hear the tale tell signs that he was in the kitchen stuffing his mouth full of food before he tried to convince Sam to eat something.

There was the sound of worn sneakers shuffling across the hardwood floor and then it came to a stop.

“Man, when are you going to unpack?” Nick asked and the question pulled Sam’s attention away from his handwriting and up to where Nick was standing in front of the two boxes that were stacked on top of each other, in the same place that they were when Sam first arrived at Stanford. “I mean, it’s not like you’ve got much to unpack but shit man, you could at least make it look like you’re planning on staying for the full year. You study like you are.”

Sam straightened from the hunched over position that he was in, hearing his spine crack at the movement and looked at the boxes that he had neglected to do anything with.

“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “I just… I haven’t really needed anything out of them and it really hasn’t bothered me, I guess.”

“Well, it’s bothering me. We’re moving you in, Winchester, officially. Now get off your ass and get over here and help me unpack your shit.”

“Nick…” Sam whined. “I’ve got this…”

“I don’t care. You’ll be fine now unless you want me to just start throwing all of your stuff all over the place, I suggest you get over here and put your stuff where you want to put it.”

Sam looked down at the open books on his bed and the pages of notes that he had and ran a tired down his face before he sighed and closed his textbook. Nick was right. Other than the books that he had scattered around his room and the small pile of laundry that was in the corner that he _really_ needed to get washed, there was nothing in here that made this room _his_ room. There weren’t any posters of action movies or woman dressed in string bikinis taped up on his wall. The blankets that were on his bed were the same ones that the university gave him when he had asked. Other than the gun that was wedged in between the mattress (just because he wanted to live a normal life didn’t mean that he was stupid and suddenly oblivious to the world around him. He had been raised better than that and so he always had some kind of protection) everything was bare of his belongings.

Nick took the top box (simply for the fact that it was lighter) and gave the heavier box to Sam which he wasn’t exactly complaining about.

The box that Sam had gotten was full of more books from his earlier schooling career. Books that he had to read in junior high and high school that were filled with his messy handwriting from questions and comments that he had jotted down. There were a couple of trophies that he had saved for when he played soccer, a toy plane and a few other random objects that he had accumulated through the years. Not to mention the little tin box that held all the charms that his father and Bobby had given him while he was still out on the road.

That used to be his life. Always looking over your shoulder and making sure that you had the right kind of charms on you. It was the one thing that he didn’t miss from the life. Here at Stanford, the only thing that he had to worry about was moldy pizza and professors who wanted to kill their students with finals.

Nick managed to get the box that were full of his clothes, thrift store finds but his clothes nonetheless. Sam wasn’t spared from the snide comments that fell from Nick’s lips every two seconds about everything that he had kept to wear.

_Like really? A bright pink shirt? He had kept that?_

Sam put the various books on the little bookshelf, along with the homework that he had finally decided to put up for the night and Nick was still shifting through his box, laying out the clothes into two piles. A pile of regular clothes that a normal human would wear and a pile that would only be used as ammunition for more teasing.

Sam sat down in the desk chair, sitting in it backwards, arms resting against the back of the chair as he watched Nick.

Frankly he couldn’t remember where he got half the clothes that were in the box or even how he had that many to begin with. It wasn’t like the back of the Impala had a ton of room to store things and from what he remembered Dean was the one that always had the most clothes, all those damn band t-shirts that he just _had_ to have. His heart clenched at the thought of Dean, of what he was doing right now.

Probably following Dad, always at his beck and call hunting down the monsters that hid in the shadows waiting to sink their claws deep into the skin of humans that were oblivious to what was really out there.

That or Dean could be laying face down in some ditch somewhere, dead. He chose not to think about the latter.

Sam could probably count on two hands the number of times that he thought of Dean and Dad, always trying to busy himself with school and work and keeping up his grades so he wouldn’t have to remember what he had left behind.

It was easier this way, no matter how painful it was. It was easier to just forget than to remember. But there were times that Dean would creep back into his mind. Always when Sam would least expect it and Sam would usually drown his memories with alcohol only to wake the next morning with a massive hangover and five minutes to get to his first class for the day.

But when Nick pulled out that black, threadbare band shirt that was once Dean’s and made some comment about how it was way too small for Sam and that he should just throw it away caught Sam completely off guard and the mere thought of throwing it away, throwing what once was Dean’s, the only thing that he had left of Dean, made him sick to his stomach. He managed to squeak out that he wanted to keep it and Nick took one last look at the shirt before shrugging and throwing it over his shoulder into one of the piles that he made.

Not too much longer after Nick had stumbled across that shirt, did he stand from where he was in the middle of the room, saying that he was invited to a party and that Sam should _really_ think about going because it was Friday night and he hadn’t been out since he came to school and he really needed to get laid but Sam brushed off his invitation and Nick was never one to beg.

After Nick had changed into a clean shirt and used a little bit too much hair gel to spike up his hair, Sam was left alone in his little apartment, that shirt screaming out for him.

He tried to ignore it, he really did. He pulled out one of his old books from high school to distract himself but it seemed like the harder that he tried to concentrate on the reading the more that his mind drifted back to that black t-shirt.

“Fuck, Dean.” He growled, slamming the book down and making his way into the kitchen to search of a bottle of whiskey that he kept hidden from Nick. “You’re fucking miles away and you still can’t leave me alone.”

The whiskey burned like it always did but after a couple of sips the burn was nothing more than a dull warmth and he welcomed the whiskey into his system, waiting for it to take over.

But whiskey was unpredictable and it doesn’t always do what it’s supposed to do. Like it was supposed to make Sam forget. He was supposed to forget about the shirt and the way Dean looked when Sam had gotten it for him (along with two tickets to go see them play live in concert for his birthday). He was supposed to grow numb. Grow numb enough that he would be able to march back up into his room and bury that shirt underneath all of his other clothes and never see it again but it seemed as if it was a night for remembering.

Somehow he found himself clutching the shirt in his hand, staring down at it, taking huge gulps from the bottle completely ignoring the way that it made him want to cough his liver up.

The night grew older and Sam continued to get drunker and the shirt screamed out accusations that Sam was never going to be able to deny.

He could still remember when Dean had found out about the letters, about the fact that Sam was applying to college, to Stanford, that he was going to leave him quite possibly forever.

They weren’t normal. Anyone could see that. From the way that they dressed to the way that Dean seemed to care more about his younger brother than himself. People would notice the lingering touches or the looks that said more than words ever could. It was always them against the world and it didn’t even matter that there were brothers.

Not even that first time they kissed underneath those fireworks underneath that fourth of July sky. Everything that came afterwards only felt natural.

It was always about him, though. Dean would make sure that Sam always got what he wanted even when Dean would leave him a writhing, moaning mess, Dean would make sure that Sam was taken care of. It was soft fingertips and butterfly kisses. Hickies hidden where Dad wouldn’t seem them and stolen moments together.

But when Dean had found the letter, he had Sam pinned to the bed, hips relentless up against his and Sam bit into his bottom lip to keep from screaming out because this wasn’t like Dean and it hurt, the pain almost on the side of unbearable but he knew that he deserved this because the pain that he was feeling now was nothing compared to the pain that he was sure that Dean had felt when the letters had fallen out of Sam’s backpack and he had mistakenly read them.

But even that wasn’t as painful as the look on Dean’s face the next morning when he realized just what he had done to Sam. He saw the dark bruises that were left by an aggressive hand on his pale body and the way that he seemed to move a little slower than normal. He tried to hide the limp out of his step and keep the grimace off his face but Dean always had been able to read his body better than he could sometimes.

That night was the last time that they touched and now here Sam was nearly a year later, sitting in the middle of the kitchen in his shared apartment, clutching his brothers shirt that still smelled like him and he ached for Dean.

Ached for him.

He fished his phone out of his pocket and dialed the number that he thought that he would never dial again. He wasn’t sure what he expected. He was sure that there was a part of him that expected for Dean not to pick up and that probably would have been easier on him than to hear Dean’s gruff voice come through the line.

“Hello?” He asked after a moment of nothing being said and Sam’s quiet resolve seemed to break.

“Dean…” Sam choked out and then there was only silence. Sam’s brain seemed to have run out of words to say, only his brothers name on his tongue.

He could hear breathing on the other side of the line, Dean’s breathing. A sound that he had fallen asleep to a number of nights ago and a choked out sob passed through his lips. He tried to clamp a hand over his mouth to muffle the sound but Dean still heard it. He knew that he did.

“Are you alright, Sam? You’re not in trouble are you?” His voice sounded tight but he was concerned. It was laced through his words and Sam didn’t understand how Dean could still care. After everything that he had put him through, he didn’t understand how Dean still sounded like he would drop everything for him.

“I’m…I’m fine.” But he wasn’t, was he? No, he wasn’t. He found Dean’s shirt in the bottom of his stuff and just completely went off in the deep end. He tried to bury the memory of Dean and Dean didn’t want to be forgotten.

He waited for Dean to say something else, call him out of his obvious lie but there was nothing being said on Dean’s side.

“I miss you!” Sam blurted out after several tense moments, rushing to get those words out before Dean hung up. “I miss you, Dean.” He said a little quieter this time and he swore that he heard something on the other line. Not words but a deep intake of breath and Sam waited just a moment to see if Dean was going to say anything. “I shouldn’t have done this, Dean. I shouldn’t have.” He was now slurring his words, mumbling into the phone, unable to stop himself now that he had started. “I shouldn’t have run away from you. I want you back. I need you, Dean. I’m… I’m sorry.” He hiccuped, tears catching in his throat.

His heart was racing, feeling as if it was going to burst from his chest.

“Please, Dean, say something.” He begged.

“You’re drunk, Sam.” Dean sighed. "You don’t mean any of this. Go to sleep. You’ve got class tomorrow.” And then he hung up. The line went silent.

Four sentences. That’s all he got. Four sentences that sounded completely emotionless and that’s all he deserved. He knew it. Just like he knew that calling Dean was a mistake no matter how much he missed him. No matter how much his body craved to be near Dean’s again.

The phone slipped from his fingers, falling to the ground with a deafening crash and he finished off the bottle that his fingers were loosely wrapped around. Stupidly, he stared at the phone, just waiting, just hoping that Dean might pick up the phone and call him back, say more than four choppy sentences but the phone never rang and fell into a slumber that was filled with nightmares of Dean repeating those same sentences, just as void of emotion acting as if Sam was nothing more than a stranger.

And not his brother.

His head was pounding when he finally came to. He shifted, grabbing a handful of blankets and pulled them up to his ears. He felt awful. He wasn’t quite sure what time it was, the room still felt dark enough meaning that the sun hadn’t broken the horizon yet but opening his eyes and seeing how much longer he had to sleep off the alcohol until he had to go to class seemed to take too much energy.

Wait, scratch that. He wasn’t going to go class. Not this morning, school be damned. He was going to take a day for himself, maybe go down to the little liquor store on the street corner, get another bottle of something strong and slip into numbness.

He groaned as he shifted in bed, trying to find a more comfortable position. He settled on a spot with a huff of breath.

“Met your roommate. He seems pretty cool.” He spoke suddenly, breaking through the darkened room.

Sam froze, his heart feeling like it stopped beating in his chest, mind frantically racing as he placed the pieces together in his head. Something felt off.

A lot of things felt off.

To start out with, he was in his room, not on the kitchen floor where he last remembered being. He was actually in his bed. He knew that Nick would never in a million years pick him up and carry him to his bed. And he would never even think about stripping him out of his jeans and into something a little more comfortable to sleep in. In fact, Nick would be the jerk who would draw something inappropriate on his face and then text it to all his friends. Something that Dean would do.

And yet here he was in a pair of pajama pants, underneath the covers of his bed, waking up in his own room to the sound of his brother speaking to him.

He jerked up, searching the dark room, settling on the dark form in the corner of the room sitting in the small chair at his desk. He couldn’t believe it, wouldn’t believe it, refused to believe it. Refused to believe that Dean, his brother who he had hurt, was sitting in his room. Wouldn’t believe that his brother had carried him from the kitchen, had taken care of him, was still here. That he waited for Sam to wait, that he didn’t just leave the moment that he made sure that Sam didn’t choke on his own vomit.

He didn’t want to move and he didn’t want to speak for fear that Dean would just disappear, that his voice would make him dissipate.

Dean cleared his throat, shifting in his seat, uncomfortable with how Sam was just staring at him, saying nothing at all. “He seemed surprised to see me, like he wasn’t used to you have friends over. Glad to see that you’re still a geek.”

Sam threw the blankets off of him, the sound of Dean’s voice broke him out of his trance. He wanted to get closer to him, feel him, make sure that he was actually here, that he wasn’t just something of poorly laid wishes. However when made a move to stand up, his legs had nowhere near the strength and he had no where near the balance to stand. He stumbled forward, arms already out to brace himself for the fall and then Dean was there, holding him, keeping him from tumbling forward.

“Woah, easy there, little big man.” Dean muttered as he laid Sam back down into bed.

Sam stared up at him, mouth agape. He felt solid enough. Sam wrapped his fingers around Dean’s arm, keeping him from pulling away. He felt real, like he actually was here. Which was impossible because Dean would never come to Stanford. So it was just his brain and the alcohol giving him what he craved.

“I missed you, Dean.” Sam muttered, his grip on his brother tightening.

“Yeah, I gathered that from your phone call.” Dean’s voice sounded different than it did on the phone. It sounded softer, smoother.

Back when they were kids, there was never much need for words. They always talked through physical touch. That was how they communicated and while they hadn’t touched in what felt like lifetimes, they still talked, still communicated how they felt through their hold. Sam was telling Dean everything that he wished he said that night when he left. That he didn’t want to do this. That he didn’t want to go. That he wasn’t running from Dean. He just had to get out. Get out of the life and away from the more than brotherly feelings that he had developed for Dean. Feelings that Dean would never share no matter how many nights they fell asleep wrapped up together. He was only doing that for Sam, to keep him from heartbreak because Dean was like that.

He would always want to make Sam happy no matter what the price was.

But it wasn’t entirely Sam’s fault. Not really. It wasn’t his fault for feeling this way towards his brother. It was the way that he was raised, always so close to him. Sam idolized Dean. Always had and so it was only natural for something else to grow out of that idolization.

And that’s why he ran away. He ran because Dean still saw Sam as his beautiful, innocence little brother. Not this boy that dreamed at night that they weren’t brothers so they could be together like they were always meant to be.

He wanted to say this, get it off his chest before it ate him alive. Let Dean know the truth, the whole truth and why not do it now. Dean wasn’t actually here. Dean was sleeping soundly underneath some other moon in a whole different state. He wasn’t here just mere inches from Sam’s face. It was nothing but the alcohol.

“I love you, Dean.” Sam mumbled, grabbing a hold of Dean’s face, trying to pull him closer towards him.

Of which Dean immediately pushed away. “Yeah yeah yeah. We’ve gotta get you a girlfriend.” He said with a small chuckle and yet again, his voice sounded tight.

“No, Dean, you listen to me. Listen to me…” Sam grabbed Dean’s jacket, keeping an iron hold of him. “You don’t understand. I… love you.” And he said it with so much conviction that there was nothing that Dean could said to make the air between them any less tense. “That’s why I left.”

Then Sam did the last thing that he could do. He buried his hands in Dean’s jacket and pulled him down to his level and kissed him. Dean stood there frozen, completely motionless. He didn’t move. He didn’t kiss Sam back but then again he didn’t pull away either.

There were butterflies fluttering all around Sam’s stomach as he pulled away from Dean, breaking the connection so he could look at him, gauge what he was feeling, what Dean was thinking. Only Dean ducked back down and captured Sam’s lips with his own and kissed him again. This time with as much devotion as Sam just did.

It wasn’t the perfect kiss. It was far from it. Sam was still clumsy from being intoxicated. It was wet and messy and everything that Sam ever wanted from his brother. Even if Dean wasn’t really here.

His mind was playing with him. That’s what it was. It was pranking him, giving him this wrong, dirty dream that he’s had forever, giving him what he wanted for years. And Sam wasn’t strong enough to shake himself out of this dream. He was willing to play right along, indulge in this alcohol induced version of his brother. He was going to hold and kiss Dean until he disappeared underneath his fingertips like the smoke he was.

Dean kissed hard, his weight dipping into the bed where he was holding himself up as he kissed Sam back with the same desperation and want that Sam was kissing him.

And then Dean just pulled away. He pushed Sam back down onto the bed, taking a step back, heaving in a heavy breath, looking everywhere but at Sam.

“Sam… I can’t… You don’t…” He didn’t even finish his sentence. He left. He turned and left, all but ran out of the room just like Sam had done to him over a year ago and Sam didn’t even have it in him to cry anymore.

Dream Dean didn’t want him anymore than his real Dean wanted him.

He fell back to sleep, this time drifting off in a dreamless slumber.

Waking up the next morning was a bitch. The afternoon sun was peaking in through his window, blinding him as he opened his eyes, grunting as he rolled over away from the light. He closed his eyes again, wishing that he would just sleep for another thirty-two hours. That dream had taken more out of him than he realized. Seeing Dean again, feeling him kiss him back, even if it was all in his head, it felt all too real and he craved even more than he already had.

He had his eyes closed for all of four minutes when he heard the freight train named Nick stomp into his room and turn on the light. Sam groaned, throwing his arm over his eyes.

“What the fuck are you doing, Nick?” Sam’s voice was gruff with sleep.

“Being a nice roommate and seeing if you hadn’t drank yourself into a coma.” Nick’s voice was all too loud as he walked into Sam’s room, throwing open the curtains, letting in even more unwanted light. “Never knew you were such a heavy drinker, dude. Found your empty bottle of whiskey in the trash.”

“Yeah, well there’s a lot of things that you don’t know about me.” Like the fact that I’m in love with my brother. “Again, what the fuck are you doing in here?” Sam snapped.

“Woah, hey, that attitude is uncalled for. Remind me to never wake the sleeping giant.” Nick mumbled as he closed the blinds. “I was just seeing if your friend was still here. Didn’t even know that you had friends besides me. But it looks like he left.”

Sam sat up, the light burning his eyes and making the pounding in his head even worse.

“Friend?” Sam questioned, his voice squeaking more than he liked.

“Yeah, friend. He was about yea high, short hair, leather jacket. Looks like a cool dude. You know, your friend. He said that he wanted to see you but I guess that you were too busy hibernating to notice that he was here.” He looked at Sam once more before shrugging and then turned to leave the room.

But Sam hardly noticed that Nick had left. His heart had stopped. At least that’s what it felt it. His blood had run cold in his veins. It wasn’t a dream. It had actually happened. Dean had come here. Sam had kissed him. Dean kissed him back and he left. Sam had to go off and fuck things up again and now he probably burned every bridge between him and his brother.

He suddenly felt very sober in the moment and the reality of things had just become too real.

His phone was on his bedside table and he reached for it, not really knowing what he was expecting or what he was going to do with it but all he wanted to do was take back what had just happened. He wanted to beg for forgiveness and have Dean see him as his little brother again and not this abomination that’s in love with him.

But Dean had beat him to the punch. He had already called Sam and left him a voice mail and Sam didn’t want to listen to it.

And yet he pressed play and held the phone to his ear and waited to hear all the words that he deserved to hear from Dean. The silence lasted on the line for several long moments until he heard Dean clear his throat and he sounded just as wasted as Sam was.

There was just something about alcohol and Winchester’s and drunken phone calls.

 _It’s my fault_. Dean finally spoke. _It’s all my fault. The way that you’re feeling right now, Sammy. Those feelings that you have towards me. It’s all my fault. I’m the one that’s lead you on all these years, made you believe these things and I’m sorry, Sam. I shouldn’t have visited you. I shouldn’t have put those thoughts in your head. I’m the sick one, Sammy, not you. I don’t want you to believe that this is on you cause it isn’t. This is on me. So do something for me, Sam. Go find yourself a girl, finish school and forget about me and what I did to you, alright. Or at least try._

Once the message ended, Sam immediately redialed Dean’s number, hoping that he was still drunk enough to answer but it went straight to voicemail. “Dammit, Dean.” Sam muttered as he called one more time and yet it straight to voicemail for the second time.

He threw the blankets off of his body, making a move to stand up, pausing for a moment for the world to stop spinning. Then he stripped out of his pajama pants, pulling on a pair of jeans, tying up his sneakers and pocketing his phone. Nick was in the living room, sprawled out on the couch.

“Hold up, Sam.” Nick stood up, standing in front of Sam stopping Sam from his search of the car keys. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“I need to find him.” Sam mumbled, pushing past Nick.

“Find who?”

“Dean!” Sam shouted turning towards Nick. “I need to find, Dean. I need to apologize. I need to…”

“Just calm down, Sam.” Nick grabbed a hold of Sam’s shoulders, holding him still. “You’re talking about your friend, Dean, right? The same dude that was here like a day and a half ago. Sam, he’s gone and there’s no telling where he is right now and I’m not going to let you drive out there in this condition looking for some many who could be in South Dakota right now.”

Sam furrowed his brow. “A day and a half ago? He was just…”

“He was here almost two days ago, Sam. You’ve been out forever. I was seriously worried that something was wrong with you, dude. It’s not like you to drink that much.” He sounded completely serious. There wasn’t a trace of a smile on his face.

Two days. Dean was here two days ago. He slept for forty eight hours. He pulled out his phone and checked the time stamp on the voice mail to see that it was sent hours ago.

“Let’s go have a seat, Sam. Calm down. You know what you need right now, water. Stay here. I’ll be right back.” Nick disappeared into the kitchen after he sat Sam down on the couch.

Sam was still staring at his phone when Nick came back shoving the glass in front of his face and Sam waved it away.

South Dakota. Nick said that he could be in South Dakota right now. Nearly half way across the country. South Dakota. Sioux Falls. Bobby.

A light bulb went off in Sam’s head. “You’re a genius, Nick.” Sam mumbled as he searched for Bobby’s number in his contact list and stood back up to walk into his room and shut the door behind him, leaving Nick looking confused as ever sitting on the couch with a glass of water in his hand, wondering just exactly he did that made him a genius.

Bobby answered the phone after the second ring.

“Sam!” Bobby greeted. “It’s good to hear from you, boy. How have…”

“Let me talk to him.” Sam demanded, cutting Bobby off.

There was a split second of silence before Bobby spoke and it told Sam everything that he needed to know. Dean was there. He was with him and he didn’t want to talk to Sam. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Sam.”

“Bobby, please, I just… I need to talk to him, Bobby.”

Another beat of silence. “He’s not here, Sam. I haven’t seen him in months. But I can relay a message if he stops by.”

“Bobby…” Sam begged. “Please, just put him on the phone. Hold it to his ear. Force him to listen. He doesn’t even have to say anything if he doesn’t want to, I just need him to listen to me.”

There was a rustling sound, almost as if the phone was being held to Bobby’s chest and then there was some muffled mumbling and even though Sam listened as hard as he could, he couldn’t make out anything that was being said and the silence was killing him inside. Then there was a crash and what sounded like a shout and then nothing.

“Listen…” Bobby’s voice crackled through the line. “I don’t know what’s going on between you two boys and I’m not going to pry cause that’s none of my business but this will blow over, Sam. Don’t worry about it. I’ve never seen two boys more attached to the hip than you and Dean are but both of you have to come out of your stubborn ways. He’ll come around, just give it time."

“I wouldn’t be so sure, Bobby.” Sam sighed. "I’ve screwed up and I don’t any amount of time will fix this. Just tell him… tell him that it’s not his fault and I don’t blame him. He didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I’ll tell him. Take care, idjit.”

Sam smiled bitterly into the phone. “I will.” And he hung up.

It took two seconds for the bitter sadness to turn into anger and he threw the phone across the room, it hitting the wall and shattering into a million pieces. He slammed open his bedroom door and marched right into the kitchen where Nick was raiding the fridge for some left over pizza that probably wasn’t any good anymore.

He bent down and opened the cabinet underneath the sink and grabbed the unopened bottle of cheap whiskey that he had stashed under there, unscrewing the sealed cap and taking a rather long gulp.

“Hey, take it easy, Sam. You passed out for two days the last time you drank that bottle. You sure you wanna go down that road again.” Nick asked, trying to take the bottle from Sam’s hand.

Sam snarled and shoved Nick away, looking down right feral. “Leave me alone.”

He took the bottle back to his room, shutting the door behind him again and sat down on his bed, leaning up against the headboard, taking another gulp causing him to cough this time.

It took him all afternoon and into the evening to finish off the bottle. He hiccuped every now and then but the best thing about the whole ordeal was the fact that he was successfully numb now. He honestly couldn’t feel anything even if he tried. Yeah, there was that nagging thought in the back of his head but he pushed it aside, opting to feel how his liver felt and how he was sure that it was going to go on strike if he continued this drinking trend.

He fell asleep into an alcohol induced haze slumped against the headboard.

It was his alarm clock that woke him up, bright red letters reading off 5 am flashing bright in the dark room, blaring at him to get up. He rolled over, squinting at his alarm clock and briefly wondering how exactly he got underneath his covers because he was sure that he was sitting when he drifted off to sleep.

“Shit Sam, turn that thing off. There’s no way you’re going to school today.” A sleep gruff voice demanded. The same sleep gruff voice that had woken him up just a few days earlier.

Sam sat back up, this time a little slower to save himself from the head spinning and was sure that he was dreaming again because Dean was here, slouched in that small desk chair, eyes closed and squished together almost as if he closed his eyes tighter that it would block out the sound.

“Dean?” Sam asked sounding every bit uncertain as he was feeling.

“Yeah, it’s me, bitch, now turn off that alarm clock. It’s way to fucking early in the morning.” Dean groaned.

Sam reached out and slapped the off button, turning back to Dean. It was too early for this. Either that or he was too drunk still because Dean shouldn’t be here because he was supposed to hate Sam. He was supposed to. Right? “What are you doing here, Dean?"

“Well, you said that you wanted to talk to me and…” Dean threw out his arms as if he was putting himself on display. “I’m here.”

Yeah, he was here and yet Sam didn’t know what he was going to say, what he could say to make Dean stay.

So he said the one thing that he meant. “I miss you.”

“Yeah, I gathered that from the phone call from Bobby and the fact that you’re trying to drown yourself in whiskey. You keep that shit up, your liver isn’t going to survive.”

There was an awkward silence that settled between the two of them and Dean ran a hand through his hair. He stood up from where he was sitting and walked over to where Sam was sitting up. Sam watched his every move, watching him with wide unbelieving eyes, almost as if he was expecting for Dean to leaving him again.

“Bobby was the one who sent me back. He said that he was going to kick me out of his house if I didn’t fix things right with you but… fuck, Sam, I can’t fix this one. I don’t even know where to start on this one. I don’t know what wires got crossed in my head but something crossed and all I know…” Dean trailed off, not knowing where he was going to go with that statement. What could he say to make this fucked up situation any better?

Sam reached out quickly, grabbing Dean’s wrist and yanked his brother towards him. “I don’t want you to leave me and I’m not gonna leave you again.” Sam blurted out before he could stop himself.

Dean looked down at him them and really looked down at him. He stared down into those hazel eyes that were begging for something that Dean so desperately wanted to give, his beautiful brown hair frame his beautiful face and before he questioned what he was doing, Dean bent down and just kissed him. He grabbed Sam’s face and kissed him.

And Sam didn’t bother questioning his actions. There was no need too.

Both of their brains had shut down and they kissed each other deeply and with everything that they had.

Now here they were, making out on the old mattress in Sam’s dorm room, so wrapped up in each other. Dean dropped down to sit on the bed wanting to climb closer to his baby brother and Sam had crawled into his lap, his long legs wrapped around his waist, straddling him and it was driving Dean crazy. The heat of Sam’s body pressed up flush against his, the wet heat of his mouth, the way that Sam couldn’t get enough.

But on the inside, Dean still fought with himself. He sure as hell felt guilty about this…there was no way that he could just take advantage of his brother like this. His little brother who was too far gone to see just how wrong this was but in that moment, everything was hazy, he was poisoned by his taste and his scent and it just seemed worth it. He couldn’t stop. 

Sam ripped the buttons of his shirt open.

“Dean, I’ve always wanted you.” Sam whispered as he ran his hand up and down Dean's chest just feeling him. 

Dean trailed his lips down Sam’s neck and sucked on a sensitive spot right under his ear. Sam sighed slightly and what Sam had just said and the sounds that escaped Sam's lips made Dean crave him even more.

It was too late to turn back. Way too late now. Even if Sam would regret it in the morning, even if  _he’d_ regret it in the morning… Dean had to have Sam now. He needed him. Badly. He continued to undressed him, tossing his clothes to the side. Sam pushed his jacket off his shoulders and Dean was amazed by his self control. 

Dean himself had obviously none left.

Dean's shirt was the next to go.

“Sam,” he murmured when Sam let his hands run over Dean's bare chest, exploring his body for the first time. His skin seemed to burn under Sam’s touch and he relished in the sensation. It almost made him tremble. He wished he’d never stop touching him. He wanted to keep him. 

Sam’s fingers brushed over his stomach, along his waist band on his pants, unbuckling his jeans. 

There were two naked bodies now, pressing against each other, both eager, filled with lust. Dean let his fingers wander, gently stroking Sam, loving the feeling of his brother’s cock in his hand. Sam moaned in response, moving his hips towards him, wanting more. 

Dean couldn’t take it anymore. 

Dean pulled his hand away from Sam, rolling them over to where Sam was the perfect definition of sin laying on his back just waiting for Dean. “You’ve got anything?” Dean muttered against Sam’s lips and Sam nodded.

“It’s in the drawer over there.” Sam replied, gesturing with his head.

Dean reached across the bed and opened up the small bedside drawer pulling out a bottle of lube and a condom. Dean looked back down at Sam, seeing the tears that were now forming in his eyes.

“Please, Dean, don’t… please don’t take this away from me.” Sam begged, his voice still sounding broken and Dean bent down to kiss his again.

“I couldn’t do that to you, Sammy.” Dean replied. “I’m with you, forever. Now, roll over for me, sweetheart.”

Sam did and Dean moved up the bed just a little bit, sitting back on his heels as he opened the bottle of lube and poured it over his fingers, just enough to prep Sam. He runs his fingers against Sam’s rim and he bent down, placing gentle kisses up and down Sam’s back, making sure there isn’t a single piece of skin that Dean hasn’t tasted.

Sam kept trying to push back against Dean but Sam gripped his hip with his free hand, keeping him still. Dean slid one finger inside him, then another, making small scissoring movements to stretch him, in and out, twisting them. As Dean pushed a third finger into his little brother, Sam was already close to coming, having a hard time staying still.

He pulled his fingers out, tapping Sam on the hip, telling him to roll back over on his back and he was kissing him again. Long and hard. He spread Sam’s legs, moving in between them and then he was pushing himself inside of Sam.

He went slow, giving Sam time to adjust to him. Dean has to keep his breath steady, still has to focus on his breathing before Sam is everything that he ever thought he would be. When he’s fully seated inside of Sam, he stays still, listening to his own heart pounding in his chest.

Sam was the one who moved first. He rolled his body up against Dean, urging Dean to move and Dean was happy to oblige.

It was a dance between the two boys. They moved together, working with each other, slow and steady, everything slowly starting to build. Sam would push up against Dean when Dean pulled nearly all the way out and Dean would push forward whenever Sam would pull back.

Dean went as slow as he could, keeping every movement precise as he pulled beautiful sounds from Sam’s mouth.

Sam was everything that Dean ever wanted. A brother, a soulmate, someone who would understand him for who he was and he felt absolutely perfect. Lips were on top of lips, naked flesh sliding against naked flesh and nothing was more right than this. Dean was going to lose it soon, he could feel it.

Sam’s moans and grunts got louder and louder as he continued to meet Dean’s thrust. His name fell from Sam's lips as if it were the only word that he knew.

Dean barely had to mutter into Sam’s ear about how he was never going to leave him, that he was his and only his and Sam was coming, teeth digging into the flesh of his shoulder, blunt nails digging in his back.

And God, just the sounds that he made, the pants and the sound of his name on his brother’s lips sent him over the edge and he came, wishing for a moment that he was actually filling Sam up with his come but that would come later. At least he hoped it would.

Dean committed this moment to his memory, wanting it to be one of the last things that he ever remembers, deciding that this was the most erotic thing he’d ever been able to witness. His little baby brother sprawled on top of his college bed, looking completely blissed out and in love.

The two fell asleep shortly after, legs tangled around each other, completely disregarding the mess on their stomachs. Dean held onto Sam, his lips pressed against his forehead and the last thing that he remembered thing was that he would never be able to forgive himself for dragging Sam down into this hell with him.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thoughts, comments, and opinions are always welcomed.


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